


Lacrimosa

by negativecosine



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Crying, Dacryphilia, M/M, Tentabulges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 18:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1521188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/negativecosine/pseuds/negativecosine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave totally does not have a crying kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lacrimosa

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, jadebloods.

You don't have a crying fetish. That's pretty important to just get out in front where everyone can see it, okay: you do not kink on sobbing pathetic emotional wrecks. Generally. You don't! It's just that you're... conditioned. Every time the littlest Strider gets any company at all, it's under some really specific circumstances, and it's just sort of getting difficult to keep those wires uncrossed. A fellow's dick is going to make certain associations, it is not your fault. It is also definitely not your fault when a Saturday night with no plans means you're automatically online skimming forums after the google search "sad as fuck foreign films romance sad food sad." 

You don't do this all the time, which helps you feel less like a fucking creep about it. You also are pretty up-front about it: "hey karkat i got a new one mightydong999 on imdb said would rip your bloodpusher out and serve it for dinner, come over." Like, he should definitely know that you're doing it on purpose, and so far you've gotten a good dose of the tentacle monster every time you've tried this, and he always stays the night even though it's you zonked out and him reading in your bed with his pointy elbows digging into your ribcage. It's actually kind of nice, which is not something you'd admit to him. Or anyone. Ever. 

In your defense, someone called mightydong999 (who will have your eternal respect) did actually write a pretty thorough review of your "sad as fuck foreign films romance sad food sad" movie of the week. The solid first ten minutes of it turn out to be hyper-accurate Chinese diaspora foodporn, which is another thing you refuse to admit to being into. It's also way, way fucking longer than you'd expected, and close to the ninety minute mark, you're having a hard time. 

Karkat, as usual, has refused to use the couch like a normal person. He's taken all the cushions off the couch, and a bunch of blankets and more pillows from your room, because it's that weird troll thing where they just can't stop making forts. So you're pretty cuddled up in your weird troll boyfriend's fort with your weird troll boyfriend, and he is absolutely a brutal dictator about No Talking During Movies I Swear I Will Cut Out Your Squawkstem or whatever weird troll word. But he's sniffling, and you can kind of see his eyes all red-rimmed and wet around the edges, and this is easily one of the least sexy movies you have ever watched, which makes your boner even more unfortunate. Every time you try to do something about it-- the yawn-arm-around-shoulders thing, or straight-up just start sucking on Karkat's neck, he's slapped your hands or mouth and wiggled around to plant himself more and more firmly in your lap. It's a lot of mixed signals, which admittedly is something you're also pretty accustomed to, because Karkat's signals are like a fucking radioshack exploded. 

Your third attempt to sneak an arm around Karkat's waist coincides with the Impassioned Public Outrage speech from the prim schoolteacher. He lets you, this time, so you wrap him up and rest your chin on his shoulder like you have any vested interest in what's going on. The schoolteacher immediately gets completely smacked down by the universe, and then she's sobbing into the gym teacher's arms and kissing him and Karkat definitely has to notice your dick against his back, he has to know that's what's going on, right? You can feel the little hitching sobs start where your chest is all pressed up against his back, and he's digging his little claws into where your arms are wrapped around him. It hurts, a nice bright sting that you can hang on to when you're almost dizzy from how much you want to just turn the fucking movie off and lick his tears off his face. 

Somehow-- god, you don't even know how, you last through the last thirty minutes (holy shit how long is this movie) without incident. He doesn't remove his claws from your armflesh, you don't let him off your lap, you don't try to talk or move or anything, just press your face close to the side of his so you can hear his breathing, feel when he starts to cry again. The movie's pretty obvious about it, you can see it coming, the music and lights and everything are basically blaring, The Last Scene And Also The Saddest, Step Right Up. You force yourself to stay relaxed, keep your breathing even with Karkat's. He's been so fixed on the screen you wonder if he actually forgot you were here, but when the old dad guy goes into the house Karkat starts stroking his thumbs down over the little pinprick punctures he's left in your arm. He knows that you're watching him, not the movie, you're really sure of it now, which you feel gives you pretty much free license to turn your head and press your face to his damp cheek. You have no idea what happens on the screen for the last minute and a half, because you can't read the subtitles and the music cues have cut off almost completely. Your eyes are shut, all of you is focused on trying to read Karkat's pulse through his thin skin, trying to pinpoint the exact moment he'll start again. 

You didn't need to get out all the fine-scale instruments, as it turns out. Something happens in the movie that yanks a strangled sob out of him, loud and chest-deep and it's exactly the fucking sound he makes when he comes. You tighten your arms around him and he finally turns his head and he's on you in a second, twisting in your lap to get both hands on your face, kiss you hard. You can taste his tears, and your dick gives a miserable twitch under his ass even as he pulls back to gulp for air, crying too hard to breathe and kiss at the same time. "What the fuck," he groans, and it's the first you've heard him speak in more than two hours. "Why would you show me that, what the fuck." 

He apparently doesn't actually want an answer, because he's kissing you again, shoving you down on your back and straddling your hips. You love that for how short he is, he's still enough of a moobeastmeatcake to throw you around a little, and getting thrown around while he's still crying and kissing you is doing excellent things for your dick. Your dick is well aware what this always leads up to, and it's the rest of you that has to catch up when he's already tugging up your shirt and dragging the pads of his fingers down your chest in straight lines, collarbone to hips. You arch and scramble to catch up, trying to get your hands up the back of his stupid oversized sweater.

It helps that you can feel his pants-tentacle get involved, wriggling in a way that's still slightly uncanny-valley against your trapped hard-on through two pairs of jeans. It helps that he won't let go of you, that he keeps huffing and trying to bite your lips even through the crying. Makes you feel less like a nasty piece of shit for doing this to him, especially when he keeps getting the sobs mixed up with rough little moans, when he keeps grinding down against you, shoving your legs apart so you can feel his tentabulge right up under your balls. It's a blunt, obvious tease, and he's staring at your face all red-eyed and emotional as he does it, and you give him what he's wordlessly asking for, let yourself moan a little and arch up and dig your fingers into his back like he likes. He told you that one time after, the same way that you hate being on top when he's all teary-eyed and gasping, he hates when you get too pokerface under him. It's both of you just constantly flipping your lids about whether the other one actually enjoys the sex, your lids are both in an eternal hovering/spinning state from the continuous flipping, it's fucking ridiculous, but it means you're noisier for him than you've ever been about anything in your life. You give him little whines and groans and grunts and sometimes you can force yourself to say real shit, honest shit like "yeah right there" or "oh that's good." It's more than you thought you could do, when he first told you that, but the way his face goes all intense and he gets red-flushed and furiously focused when you do it, it's pretty worth the embarrassment. 

You do win the race to get him shirtless, but mostly because he's apparently given up actually trying to get your shirt all the way off, and is content to just leave it shoved up to your armpits and stretched down at the collar so he can leave a sloppy line of hickies down your neck and onto your chest. The closer he gets to your nipples the more you gasp and claw at him, your nails digging in way past the point where you always think you're going to break the skin on his back, but you never do. You make a really stupid noise when he gets to one nipple, sucks it in between his teeth hard, pinches the other one between his thumb and the blunt back of his claw. It hurts gorgeously, and you keep alternating between trying to buck up into it and trying to squirm down away, though that only makes the pinch sharper. He doesn't give you much of that-- there were times where he's done that for ages, done that until you were gasping and whining and drooling because you couldn't close your mouth between big, shuddering breaths. He claimed he was just curious, since trolls don't have those. You know the difference between 'curious' and 'fucking obsessed,' though. He's not patient enough for it now, though, he's not even crying anymore, he's all raw focus, and he keeps his eyes on yours when he bites down on you, hard, just below the nipple, then sucks your skin in his teeth to make another dark mark. It keeps you distracted enough that he manages to get your jeans halfway down and off before you realize that he's taken the lead, and by that point there's already cold air and a hot hand on your dick, so it's pretty much moot. 

Karkat doesn't let you catch up at this point, doesn't abide your shaky distracted fumbling with the front of his jeans, just sits up and takes a second to strip them off himself, then he's back down on you, bulge all slick and squirmy up between your legs. It took a lot of practice to get to this point where you could just kind of lay back and enjoy the octopus party without trying to wrangle it or anything, and it still takes a certain amount of deliberate relaxing deep-breathing exercises to keep yourself from freaking out every time that thing makes first contact. He doesn't let you get caught up in your head, though, gets your jaw in one hand and your dick in the other and keeps your face just where he wants it so he can kiss you right when he gives your dick a long, slow pull. You open your eyes in the middle of it and stare at him, a little cross-eyed, stare at his thick forehead all crunched up in concentration, the drying tear-tracks down his round cheeks. That's the thing that makes you go all limp and flexible under him, and you get both hands on his cheeks to cup his face even as he's shoving your thighs up, spreading them all the way flat so his bulge can wriggle down into your crack. It feels weird, always does, but his hand is steady on your dick and his eyes are really beautiful. It's the part where you always get a little floaty, and where he always gets emotional, and you can see a new swell of tears gathering on his damp eyelashes when the tip of his bulge pushes into you. You swipe them away with your thumbs and lift your head and smush your lips to his, both of you too blown away with the first almost-uncomfortable creep of his bulge to actually kiss properly. 

It gets easier to relax as he gets in a little more, which should seem weird-- it's just that the squirming is sort of less terrifyingly alien when it's restricted, and turns into more like just incredible fuck-off internal massage. He's wet enough that it goes pretty easy, which is absolutely your favorite fucking thing about troll tentacle dicks, hands down. He pulls away once he's fully seated, and you bite back the urge to snap at him for being so far away from your face, except that he gets you by the hips and hitches you up into his lap, leaving your legs dangling at obscene angles. You can see he's blinking the tears out of his eyes again, staring down at you, you can see the little hitch in his chest as he tries to breathe without sobbing, and, fuck, this is it, this is why your boner cannot deal with crying Karkat, it's because you're always thinking of him like _this_ , staring at you like he can shred you to pieces just with his eyes alone, and his bulge is wriggling and twisting in you all lazy-slow and hot like you're melting, like the base of your spine is already liquid. You're almost grateful that his hands are both safely on your hips, well away from your dick, because you could absolutely come like this but you don't want to yet, you want to stay on the edge as long as he's willing to hold you there. 

"Dave," he says, which is a special fucking treat, thanks. He almost never talks when you're fucking, probably because he knows how wretched he sounds, but every time he does is a treasured fucking addition to the high-security vault of the spank bank. He sounds like sex, he sounds like wet, sloppy, skinned-alive fucked-to-death sex, he sounds like you feel, so you dig your elbows down into the pillows and arch your back up against him and you moan for him, let him hear what he's made you into. You can't even hear yourself like this, you're too checked out, your whole damn consciousness lives in your ass and right at the base of your dick in this tight, hot, desperate ball of electricity. He's shaking a little with crying, now, you can feel the motion right down through his hands on you, his hips against your ass. His bulge is arrhythmic, his face is wet and red like you know his nook is, like everything between your thighs right now. 

You arch your back, grab both his wrists in your hands and do your level best to push against him, fuck yourself down on him. The position gives you barely any leverage, but you barely need any, his bulge does all the work and he's grabbing and hauling you and it's writhing hard inside you now, it's so fucking weird and intense. He's outright sobbing, now, full-on fucking blubbering, gasping in between vocalizations, and it's how you know he's close. You don't always let him come in you-- cleaning up's kind of a hassle sometimes-- but when it's this intense, when he's looking at you and clinging to you like that, you can't imagine denying him. It's this desperate, long surge inside you, and it freaked you out so bad the first couple times, but now you're into it because, fuck, there's almost nothing he could do to you right now that you wouldn't beg for a thousand more of. It's hot and he stuffs you full and your mouth is open and you feel your throat clenching, you're certain you must be loud as fuck, but you can't hear anything except the blood pounding in your ears. You're stuck on a plateau, everything hyperintense and fucked up and you can feel something, distantly, happening to you that's unrelated to Karkat's gorgeous bulge pumping you all full of hot bucketjizz. 

Oh. Oh, what that is is Karkat's bent down around you, still stuffing you full and bent over you and kissing your face over and over, your mouth and cheeks and over your eyes, which apparently closed at some point, and he's saying your name with increasing desperation, and holy shit how have you been in your pre-nut coma? Like a minute? He sounds terrified, which is not ideal, and you manage to get enough muscle control to get a hand up and sort of pat his face. Always makes him go all quiet and stupid, which is cute, and useful when he's been crying so much his voice has gone all ragged. "Dave, oh my god, Dave, did I fucking kill you, are you dead, what do dead humans even look like," is what he is saying, so you grab him by the hornnub and pull him down and kiss him, and you get your other hand back on his wrist and put his fucking hand on your dick already. He keeps fucking talking, even while you're trying to make out and get him to jerk you off, and it's muffled and weak and kind of cute, and he calls you an asshole a lot of times before he finally gets a good grip on your dick and gives you a few slick pumps. You have no idea when he managed to get his hand wet with his own jizz but that, that is absolutely what does it for you, and you twist and arch weakly under him as you white the fuck out. 

He kisses you right through it, finally shuts back up and just holds you and sucks on your lip and smears his hand flat-palmed through the little dribble of come on your stomach. It tickles, and reminds you that you're solidly slimy from navel to knees, and you squirm a little and bat at his horn. "Gross," you tell him when he pulls out and there's the expected rush of his slurry out your ass. It feels weird and hot down your thighs, and you are going to have to burn all the couch cushions after this, you're pretty sure. "Remind me to just show you movies in the bath from now on," you say, and grab his jizzy hand to bring it up and lick a flat, wide stripe off it. He shudders and just sort of stares at you, still looking so blown away and wrecked that you have to pull him down and lick up the solid path of tearstains on his cheek, too. He tells you to go fuck yourself, and you tell him why would you even bother when you've got him doing such a great job, and he tells you to go climb a mountain range of bulge, and you tell him you already left a flag at the summit. He tells you that you're fucking disgusting, how do you even make this much of a mess, not even normal fucking trolls get this nasty. You tell him you love him too.

**Author's Note:**

> The movie is [飲食男奴](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0111797/). Don't watch it, it's sad.


End file.
